


Gonna be alright

by cigarettesandalcohol



Series: Their Little Lion [8]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Abuse of Authority, In a way, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, and everyone wants a piece of Harry, the bus is back in town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21512860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: Harry didn't get to say a private goodbye to his beloved boss. When Mourinho takes over at Spurs and makes his move, Harry's world falls apart.
Relationships: Harry Kane/Mauricio Pochettino, José Mourinho/Harry Kane (unrequired)
Series: Their Little Lion [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1349230
Comments: 27
Kudos: 23





	Gonna be alright

**Author's Note:**

> It's short and dumb but I had to write something for Poch leaving.  
> I also made Mourinho look like a creep, which I'm sorry for. I like him in fact.
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes in my English!

Even the boss's office felt different, although very little had changed since Harry's last visit. A few pictures were missing from the walls but all the furniture was still there. 

Kane's eyes scanned the room, trying to find anything that would assure him it's still Mauricio's office, and that he's still there, somewhere in the building, probably, he just needed to manage something and will be back soon, before Harry even knows it, and will place his big, soft warm hand on his shoulders, exhaling a muttered " _Harry..._ " with the sharp double 'r' as he would always do...

"Welcome back, Harry."

But Pochettino wasn't here anymore. It wasn't him who closed the door and made his way towards the desk - _Poch's desk_ , Harry's mind processed. It was the old nemesis of almost every manager and either a nightmare or a wet dream of every player. Harry slowly, almost sadly looked up to see his new gaffer coming closer to him. For a second, he thought he should probably get up from the chair and shake hands with Mourinho but the weight on his shoulders was keeping him crouched down on the chair. He had no will to fight it. He just made a lame attempt to sit straight, and José patted his shoulder and said: "Don't get up".

 _As if I wanted to_ , Harry smirked.

Mourinho didn't sit down - _in Poch's chair_ \- he just stopped behind the desk, looking at Harry, and crossed his arms. "I think we should talk about a few things."

Harry nodded, feeling shivers run down his spine. How different his voice was, straightforward and uncompromising, compared to Pochettino, who was always asking questions and making sure everyone involved in the discussion agreed.

"I understand if you feel some emotions and sadness," José added, not even trying to sound compassionate at all. "But I need the team to be ready for the fight, and not troubled with the past. Or with regret. We all know Mauricio did a great job here. But we need to look forward now and not let it keep us down."

Harry nodded again, looking down. This carpet - this chair - this room - and Pochettino - it all just had to be combined for the scene to be complete.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," he huffed. "I am."

"I count on you, Harry. You should talk to the other lads and let them know all of this. I don't want no gloom and doom atmosphere in the dressing room."

"I can't change it - "

"You should try. Be the captain this team needs."

"I'm not the captain."

"Hugo is injured. And he'll be out for some time. Think about it that way. You're a natural leader."

"Hugo deserves to keep the captain's armband - "

"Just do your job and leave the decision making to me."

Finally, Harry maintained an eye-contact with José that lasted for more than one second. Mourinho looked completely cool and composed. He didn't raise his voice at all but the way he said the last words left no room for Kane to protest. "And if the mood stays bad, I want to know why."

"Of course," Harry said dumbly.

"I'm glad we can agree on things, Harry." José smiled, leaving his place behind the desk - _his desk_ , Harry reckoned - and walking closer to Harry's chair again. "It's the most important thing for a boss and his captain in the world of football." Harry opened his mouth to say he's not really a captain once again, but Mourinho put a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. "I heard," he started, his voice smooth and persuasive as before, "you had a very good relationship with Mauricio."

His touch turned into a grip and Harry fought with the urge to gasp with surprise when he felt it, especially combined with Mourinho's words. 

"He was more than a gaffer, am I right?" His breath brushed against Harry's ear and his fingers moved up, from holding onto Harry's hoodie to the bare skin of his neck. "I heard a lot of stories."

"What stories?" As soon as he said it, Harry knew it had to sound frightened and guilty. "He's my friend," he added quickly.

"Then we should be friends as well, don't you think?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Mourinho let out a short laugh. "Don't play dumb with me, Harry." His tone turned serious. " _I don't like that_."

Harry didn't know why, but the touch of José's hands on his bare skin made his blood freeze. It wasn't the calming, reassuring touch he was used to from Mauricio. There was nothing nice or pleasant about it, especially when José's fingers tangled in the hair on the back of Harry's head. 

"It would be a shame for you to waste your career under a coach who can't give you trophies, Harry. And you know what they say about me?"

Harry held his breath, paralyzed, afraid to move a bit. 

"That I'm a winner." Mourinho's hand left its place on Harry's head and Harry exhaled shakily. _Thank God. Thank God._ He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself and not show any weakness. He can't let his new boss know his weaknesses straight away. He can't show how much he cares for Poch and how terrified he actually feels now that Poch is gone from the club. He heard three or four steps and when he opened his eyes, Mourinho was standing right in front of him.

He had a feeling of subtle déjávu. Hasn't this all happened already? 

_It was Poch back then._

Harry looked up in his new gaffer's eyes.

"We can achieve so much together, Harry."

Kane almost gasped when the Portuguese reached out his hand and touched Harry's cheek, stroked the stubble there and then ran his fingers through the blonde hair.

"You'll be the golden boy of the Premier League."

Harry's head was spinning. He glanced at the window that was closed - maybe he needed fresh air? - and then back at José, whose eyes looked dangerously narrow. "If you are a good boy and listen to me - "

Harry wanted to say _no_ right away, not even letting Mourinho finish the sentence because his mind and body were revolting the idea, he couldn't do that, never, Mourinho was no Poch, that was all that mattered - but he was left speechless when José promptly placed finger on his lips and shushed him like that, easily and without any resistance.

Harry was used to listening to his superiors. He would never oppose them nor question their motivations. He's always been like that, _way too obedient_.

"We'll win so many trophies together, Harry."

 _No. No, no, no_ , Harry's mind was screaming but he just sat there like a dumb fool, and let José do what seemed unavoidable. 

He let José kiss him.

He closed his eyes, feeling those lips on his own, body shivering under the again-experienced grip of the Portuguese coach, but he almost sobbed when José pulled away, smirking.

"Be a good boy, Harry," he mumbled, stroking Kane's cheek; and he was _fucking smiling_. "Be my good boy and you'll have the best career you can dream of."

Harry was shaking by now, legitimately shaking, feeling like falling apart. 

"Understood?"

"Yes, gaffer."

The word left a bitter taste on his lips. Or maybe it was the kiss?

* * *

He stumbled out of the office with tears burning in his eyes. Those were the tears of a broken man, someone, whose world turned upside down in the last two days, who had his heart broken not once, but twice in the last few hours. He still felt Mourinho's hands on his body when he left the building and he could almost hear the words, whispered with such perverse pleasure and convenience. " _You'll need to listen to me now, Harry. Be a good boy."_

_No, no, no._

He needed to get that voice out of his head, he needed to hear someone else, to know that it will be alright, that nothing wrong has happened - that nothing's gonna change, that Mauricio will still be there for him - 

_Need to see you._

He typed those words with his shill shaking fingers and sent the message.

_Please._

Blood was pumping in his veins as he walked to get into his car, his whole body seemed to be on the edge of a complete breakdown. _Please, please, please_. He needed to see Poch, to have him close, to be held in his strong arms and told that everything will turn out alright, that this all is just a nightmare, and that nothing can tear them apart.

He actually sobbed when he got to his car, and he needed a few moments of taking in deep breaths while resting his hands on the steering wheel. 

Then his phone finally buzzed.

_I'm at home_

_You can come_

Normally, Kane would overthink the messages. There was no emoji nor reassurance of Poch's undying love, which was quite unusual for him. Even yesterday, after the horrendous news of the sacking, when they exchanged a few messages, Pochettino always kept the conversation full of love and reassurance. But now, Harry didn't really mind this simplicity of the messages sent to him. Poch was at home, and he could go see him, that was all that mattered.

He knew the way from the training ground to Poch's house way too well, and he would probably get there blindfolded, but it never seemed longer than today. Stopping at the lights, Harry managed to type a quick 'on my way' to Poch, feeling his heart beat faster just at the thought of seeing him, his ex-coach, his real gaffer, his Poch, his friend, his lover, his everything.

He might have been speeding a bit, and he couldn't care less - him, so responsible and obedient - the golden boy, as Mourinho said today. He just wanted to get away. Get away from the training ground, get away from Mourinho and his unwanted touches, get away from this nightmare, back in Pochettino's arms where he belonged.

In a feverish haze, he ran up the stairs in front of Poch's house and knocked like a madman, gagging with the tears that he's held back for so long.

"Harry!" the familiar accented voice came.

He was blinded by the tears rising up in his eyes, he just reached out his hands and felt it, the body, the hands, the neck - 

" _Mauricio_."

He never called Poch by his first name before.

His crazy heartbeat slowed down a little when he felt the older man's hands wrap around his body that was crouching under the weight of the worries and stress of the last forty-eight hours. 

"Harry," Poch breathed out against his ear, embracing him. "Let's get inside." His voice was oddly calm for someone in his position but Harry appreciated it. He felt lost, but now found in the Argentinian's arms, and he wasn't on the brink of a heart-attack anymore. 

"Harry. Look at me." Harry nodded, closing his eyes in a lame attempt to not show Poch that he's been crying. " _Harry_. Everything is alright. I'm with you."

"Yes - _yes_ ," he gasped, needily hugging Poch. He wanted to say more, to get it all out, to tell Poch of Mourinho, of his words, of his behavior, what he'd said to him, but he could put a coherent sentence together.

"It will be alright." Poch's touches, in contrary to Mourinho's ones, felt reassuring, welcomed, needed and purifying. "I'm here. I'm always here for you. That won't change, baby."

Harry buried his face in the crook of Poch's neck, inhaling the familiar scent. 

" _Now, now_... I'm here with you. We're gonna be alright."


End file.
